


Locked Away

by AutumnHobbit



Series: I'm in paradise with Dad [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Angst, Child Death, Gen, Hurt No Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 06:59:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10714515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnHobbit/pseuds/AutumnHobbit
Summary: anonymous asked: would you consider writing dick being asked to empty jasons locker at school after jason dies?_____"Uh, Wayne residence," he said, cringing after the fact at how hoarse his voice sounded. He scrubbed a hand over his eyes in frustration."Um, hello. Is, um...." the female voice trailed off hesitantly. "Is Mr. Wayne available at the moment?""I'm afraid not," Dick said, trying harder to channel his inner Alfred. "Can I take a message?""...Yes," the woman said. "It's....well, it pertains to his son, Jason."





	Locked Away

**Author's Note:**

> Idk if I'm happy with this, but it's mostly done, so.

It was a fluke that he even got the call, let alone answered it. He'd wandered into the kitchen after getting up in the late afternoon. Alfred was nowhere to be found, and he had no clue where Bruce was. The kitchen was silent and empty, grey light from outside drifting in, almost seeming to drain life from the room rather than bring it. 

The phone rang.

He slowly made his way over and glanced at the caller-ID. Gotham Academy. He didn't know what motivated him to pick it up. He hadn't gone to Gotham Academy very long, had vastly preferred homeschooling, and knew no one there at this point. But pick the phone up he did.

"Uh, Wayne residence," he said, cringing after the fact at how hoarse his voice sounded. He scrubbed a hand over his eyes in frustration.

"Um, hello. Is, um...." the female voice trailed off hesitantly. "Is Mr. Wayne available at the moment?"

"I'm afraid not," Dick said, trying harder to channel his inner Alfred. "Can I take a message?"

"...Yes," the woman said. "It's....well, it pertains to his son, Jason."

Dick tried to restrain himself from accidentally breaking the phone. "Yes?" He asked, hoping he didn't sound too awful.

"There is, sadly, the matter of his locker to be seen to," the woman said, genuine sympathy in her voice. "It's still here, and has been untouched since....since the news of his passing. I was hoping I could get ahold of Mr. Wayne, to see about turning Jason's belongings over to him or one of his representatives. But if he's busy..."

Dick gulped. "I can deal with it for you."

The woman paused in the middle of her sentence. "Who is this?" She asked.

"This is Richard Grayson," Dick said, trying to be calm. "I'm Bruce's ward."

"Ah, yes. You used to attend here, correct? Well. I suppose if it's alright with Mr. Wayne, and you're free, it would be appropriate to turn it over to you. Provided, of course," and her voice turned sympathetic again, "that you feel up to it, especially so soon..."

"It's fine," Dick forced himself to say. "When should I come over there?"

"Just a moment, please," the woman said, and Dick heard papers rustling. "Tomorrow afternoon, say, four, should be fine. The school should be empty except for staff at that point. Is that alright?"

Dick mutely nodded before remembering that he was on the phone. "Yes, that should be fine."

"Well, thank you so much, Mr. Grayson. It's a relief to make sure everything is properly arranged for your family. I'll be present tomorrow afternoon, my office is number 212, and I'm Principal Hall. If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to call me."

"Thank you," Dick said.

"You're very welcome. Goodbye."

Dick echoed the word and hung up, staring at the phone for a long while afterwards. 

_____

 

Dick gave himself plenty of time to get over to the school the next day, leaving the Manor at three-ish. He'd worried that he'd have to explain his absence, but he hadn't seen Bruce hardly at all in the past day or so. Or Alfred, for that matter. It was no trouble at all for him to take one of the lower-class cars and drive over to the school. He didn't really feel like eating, but figured it would be a good idea to do so, so he picked up a burger on the way over and sat in the car in the school parking lot to eat. Since he was a little early, there were students still milling about or stragglers wandering out of the school itself. He didn't recognize anyone. He wondered if any of them might have known Jason, been his friend, but realized there was no way he could know--he'd never talked to Jason much about his life with Bruce, much less his life outside of the Manor. He had no idea if Jason did well in school, or if he was an outcast, or if he enjoyed it or not. And now he'd never know. 

That was a lovely thought to start this exchange off with. But there was no sense in putting it off. So he climbed out of the car and locked it, and squared his shoulders, heading up the steps. 

He pulled the door open and slipped in. The hallways were still lit, but noticeably empty and quiet. He walked down the hall, his footsteps echoing. He glanced offhandedly at the numbers next to the doors. 20, 22, 24. So the even numbers were on that side. 

He kept walking--he vaguely remembered going to the principal's office a couple times when he was here, but he supposed they must have renovated since then. Finally, he rounded a corner into a new section of hallway with a longer distance between the doors. He spotted #212 and walked up, hitting the buzzer next to the door and stepping back to wait.

It was only a few seconds of rustling before he heard the click of the lock, and then the door opened. A thin, tall woman, with thick black hair and brown skin leaned out, with a polite smile on her face. "Mr. Grayson, please come in." 

He stepped in, and the woman shut the door behind him. 

The principal turned around. "Mr. Grayson, it's good to see you, though I regret that it had to be under such awful circumstances. I'm Veronica Hall." She offered her hand, and Dick shook it. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," Dick said quietly. 

"If you'd like to take a seat?" She asked, and Dick stifled a shrug and stepped over to the leather chairs she had set up in front of her desk. He couldn't help but feel out of place, like he was still a kid and at the mercy of the authorities, and he couldn't imagine that Jason had enjoyed it, with how brash and proud and vulnerable he could be. 

"If you don't mind my asking, I'd heard that you'd moved to Bludhaven after graduating," Principal Hall said, taking a seat, herself. "Have you been back in Gotham long?"

"Uh, no," Dick said, a bit flustered. "I, uh..." his voice dipped. "I came back as soon as I heard."

The principal nodded. "Understandable. Did you know him very well?"

Dick shook his head. "No," he said, almost in a broken laugh. He looked down at his hands as he twisted them in his lap, bending the joints backwards, as he had a habit of doing. "I didn't really get the chance to know him very well. I had my own life, you know? We hung out a few times when I visited, but I was busy. You never...you never expect something like this to happen, you know?" He paused long enough for the required, kind, 'of course not,' to be interjected. "I meant to get to know him more. Try to just be there. But..." he trailed off, his throat too tight to go on. 

"I can't imagine how hard this is," Principal Hall said. "Which is why I appreciate your willingness to help with this matter so much. It's been hard to get in contact with Mr. Wayne--which is perfectly understandable--but unfortunately we have a long waiting list, and really can't spare the space."

"Of course," Dick said quietly, nodding, eyes downcast.

"And I certainly didn't want to dispose of any items of his that might have sentimental value to you or Mr. Wayne, so it's very kind of you to come out here to help us resolve that matter."

"If--" Dick said. "If you don't mind my asking. Did...." he trailed off, uncertain. "Did Jason like it here?"

Principal Hall laughed. "No, I'm afraid I don't think he did," she said, a bit sadly. Her voice dipped. "With his economic background and all, he was a fish out of water here. Didn't fit in at all, didn't have many friends. The few he had were generally younger than he was. He got in trouble a fair amount--he was, to put it mildly, a free-thinker. He didn't like being told what to do, and especially not what to think. But he was kind, though. If he thought you needed it, I think he'd give you the shirt off his back. He helped one of the janitors fix a broken sink, once. He also helped a chauffeur fix the expensive car he was driving to pick up a CEO's kids. Left Mr. Wayne's butler waiting, but he didn't seem too upset. He also stuck up for the younger kids against bullies. Left the instigators with some impressive black eyes and split lips, too." She shook her head, glancing down at her desk. "If he hadn't been adopted by Mr. Wayne, he would have wound up in juvenile detention. And he really wasn't a bad child. Troubled, perhaps. But he would never hurt anyone if they didn't deserve it." She glanced back up. "It's truly tragic, and I'm so sorry this happened to him. As I said, he was a sweet boy." 

Dick nodded silently, not meeting the woman's eyes. 

"If you're ready," Principal Hall said, standing up, "I'll take you to Jason's locker, now."

_____

 

They had to make a quick stop by the janitor's lounge to catch one of the janitors. The older man led them to the locker and opened it with one of the keys on a huge ring completely full of them. When the door swung open, he stepped back, glanced at Dick, and then at the floor. 

"I'm sorry about your brother," he said, subdued. "He was a good kid." 

Dick swallowed hard, dipped his head once in acknowledgement. With an awkward pat to his shoulder, the janitor nodded at the principal and then headed back down the hall. 

Dick glanced at the open locker, then at the principal, who wore a sorrowful expression as she stood next to him. "Here's a duffle bag," she said quietly, handing him a brand new, clean one. "Take all the time you need. If you need me, I'll be in my office. Thank you again."

Dick didn't know if he responded. He didn't know how long he stood there, staring into the open locker. He didn't know why he studied the haphazard configuration, notebooks and pens and pencils and boxes and equipment thrown on top of each other in the narrow metal cabinet. He didn't know why he suddenly lurched forward, started scooping all of the contents of the locker into the duffle bag, then zipped it shut and power-walked back to the car, drove home as quickly as he could. He snuck into the house, feeling like a criminal. He had no idea why. 

He locked himself in his old bedroom. It was still his, but for some reason it felt like he was intruding, trespassing where he wasn't supposed to be. 

He sat down on the floor next to his bed and yanked the duffle bag off of his shoulder, holding it in his hands and staring at it as if it contained a bomb. Finally, he worked up the courage and unzipped it, dumped all the contents in a pile on the floor past his feet. 

A bunch of papers fluttered out, drifting down slowly to land atop a few wrinkled sets of folded clothes, notebooks of various types and colors, a few packages and bags. Dick spent another long moment staring at the pile of stuff that was all he had left of the younger brother he never got a chance to know. With a slightly shaking hand, he reached down and picked up one of the single sheets of paper. It was a schedule of some sort, for a class every other day. It wasn't at Gotham Academy; it was at one of the community colleges. He studied it curiously, wondering why Jason had been signed up for external classes. There was no extra writing on the sheet aside from the marked class days, so he set it aside neatly and kept looking.

There was a stack of wrinkled but folded clothes--he guessed Jason had been taking PE and had needed a change of clothes for it. A plain reddish water bottle with a black lid. A first aid kit, with a hidden compartment for painkillers.  A few different notebooks of various colors, neatly labeled 'Science,' 'Math,' 'English,' 'Geography,' 'History.' The handwriting in all of them was neat and legible. Dick was almost envious. His own handwriting was hopelessly chicken-scratch. He flipped through the English book; it was mostly sentence diagramming and composition, a bit of spelling and word definition. He turned a page and another piece of paper slid out. Curious, he picked it up off the floor. It was a torn and folded piece of notebook paper. He cautiously unfolded it; it was kind of wrinkled and worn out. 

There was a single sentence scrawled out in pencil. _Fine. You're kinda cute. I guess. --Katie._

Dick raised an eyebrow. Alfred had mentioned that Jason was quite the heartthrob, but geez. And from the condition of the paper, he'd really prized the little note. It made Dick wonder what happened to make him like her and whether they'd ever gone out for ice cream or something. And then he realized that for all he knew they might have had plans to. He swallowed hard and folded the note with a feather-light touch, setting it gently back in the book. 

He started to stack the books back together when he saw something out of the corner of his eye, and glanced down. A small card lay on the floor where the note had fallen. It must have slipped out when the note did. With a sigh, Dick reached down and picked it up, intending to tuck it back into the book. But when he caught sight of the number written across the card, he stopped dead. 

It was his number. From the time he'd given it to Jason. Jason had only called him once or twice, and it had been exceedingly awkward for most of the conversation both times, but it was tucked into his English notebook alongside his clearly-prized note from his crush. 

Dick clamped a hand over his mouth, stifling a sob. He fell back a bit, landing in more of a sitting position, the card slipping from his hand and falling onto the floor. 

 _Damnit, he should have been over this by now._ The knowledge that Jason had cared about him wasn't going to bring him back...

Dick could always sense when he was being watched, so when the hairs on the back of his neck prickled, he turned his head quickly. Bruce was standing, leaning in the half-open door, still unshaven and eyes sunken, but staring with what Dick would almost describe as a feral intensity at the pile of miscellaneous junk. 

"What--" Bruce's voice sounded rusty from disuse.

"It's..." Dick rasped, not quite through crying and still strangely hesitant to admit his selfishness to Bruce. "It's the stuff from Ja--his locker. The uh. The principal called me yesterday about it."

Bruce said nothing, not taking his eyes off the pile. Without a word, he pushed the door open a bit more, stepped across the room in four strides and knelt down beside Dick, reaching out a trembling fingertip towards one of the shirts. Dick wondered when the last time Bruce had slept was. 

"How--" Bruce asked.

Dick eyed him hesitantly. "I...I just drove down there and stuffed everything in the bag. I don't know what...what you'd want to do with--"

Bruce said nothing, digging lightly through the pile. Jason's wallet came out in his hand, a small, plain number that looked handmade. It had a slight embellishment of his initials carved in the side. Bruce turned it over in his hands like it was precious and breakable. He turned back to the pile, shoved aside one of the shirts...

And then stopped dead, and Dick glanced down, startled. His heart sank when he saw a loose photo of Bruce and Jason, at what looked like the ballpark; he vaguely remembered it pinned up in a prominent position in the locker. Swallowing hard, he glanced back up at Bruce. He nearly choked when he saw the expression in the man's eyes. 

"B-Bruce--?" He didn't mean to stammer, but he couldn't quite help it. He'd never seen Bruce's eyes like that before. He looked...he looked...

Wild. 

Suddenly Bruce was on his feet and out the door before Dick could even really register it. 

"Bruce!" Dick yelped, truly panicked now, though he wasn't sure why. He scrambled to his feet, half-limping after him. He barreled into the hall, and just caught sight of Bruce's back as he turned a corner. "Bruce!"

Bruce didn't stop. 

Dick ran down the servants' stairs, staggered through the kitchen and skidded around the corner near the office. "Bruce!" He yelled again. The clock was just sliding down to cover the cave entrance. He slid to a stop and caught himself on the clock just as it lowered. Frantically, he tried to raise it again, but it wasn't working. Bruce must have overridden his access. 

He pounded on the frame. "Bruce! Please! Whatever you're doing, please don't! _Don't!"_ He screamed, hoping against hope that Bruce could hear him, would listen. 

Silence, except for the ticking of the clock. It ticked on, and on. When five minutes elapsed, and Bruce still hadn't come back up, Dick gulped, tears running down his face again. He pressed his face against the clock, and wept. 

Somehow he knew that Bruce was going to do something horrible, horrible and reckless, and possibly get himself killed. He hadn't slept in God knew how long, he hadn't hardly been out since Dick had come home. Who knew if he'd even put his cowl on. 

Dick choked on sobs as he hung there, hunched against the clock, alone in Bruce's study.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr: autumnhobbit.tumblr.com


End file.
